Denial Time
by Alys Blue
Summary: Bonnie doesn't think she needs Marcy. Marcy sure as glob doesn't need Bonnie's perfectionist attitude in her life. So what happens when it turns out both of them need each other more than either of them would like to admit? A whole lot of denial.
1. Chapter 1

Ooo was a cold, dark place at night. The princess knelt, her nightdress sliding up around her thighs as she dug elbow deep in the dirt. The old graveyard was quiet. There were no creaks. There was no wind. There was, however, a noticeable absence of sound. A vacuum, of sorts. A silence so profound that the silence itself seemed audible. It beat against the princess's ears over and over, like waves crashing against the shore. It was maddening.

Worms slithered against her bare arms as she sifted through the dirt, which was quickly turning to mud the farther she dug in her search for a suitable tissue sample. After the Great Mushroom War, before Ooo regained a semblance of civilization, candy people were buried without caskets. The princess knew this well. She had been but a child when Ooo was united from warring factions into a thriving kingdom by her father, but she well remembered the sickly sweet stench of the dead rotting in the ground in this very same graveyard. Oh, did she remember.

She brought a handful of mud to her face and sniffed it delicately. Her nose wrinkled, and she nodded to herself. This sample would suffice.

The princess stuck her hand down the front of her dress and pulled out a test tube that had been hidden in her underclothes. She hadn't been able to find a bag that wouldn't have gotten in her way as she scaled down the castle walls. Peppermint Butler would have an aneurysm if he knew she was wandering the graveyards at night again. He was the only servant that had been with her since she was a child, as he was the only one who had achieved the eternal life that the princess also possessed. Albeit, he received it through the dark arts and she through the scientific efforts of her father, but all the same, only he knew the trouble she really could stir up should she dabble in the wrong enterprises, and only he had any semblance of control over her.

A twig snapped, and her neck stiffened.

She whipped around, but only darkness and jagged tombstones greeted her. She released her breath in a gust through her nostrils, and turned back to the ground in front of her, throwing her weight forward in preparation of standing up.

A pale blue face greeted her. A dead face. A grinning face.

She fell back and opened her mouth to scream, but an icy cold hand clamped over her mouth. She whimpered.

Cool lips brushed the tip of her ear. "Be still, Bonnibel."

The princess immediately relaxed, melting into the hard body surrounding her. The she froze up and huffed and shoved the body away from her.

She inhaled deeply, obviously about to deal a lengthy lecture to her attacker, but was drowned out by hysterical laughter.

"Wow, I really got you that time Bonnie," Marceline, the Vampire Queen said between snorts of laughter. "You should've seen your face. Priceless."

The vampire attempted to grasp the princess's wrist, but she pulled away angrily.

"You disrupted a very important scientific experiment." Her chest puffed up importantly. "Your donking up my-"

Marceline flicked her softly on the forward, effectively cutting her sentence short. The princess blinked, astounded. The vampire laughed loudly once more.

"C'mon cutie. You know you miss me."

Bonnibel's pink cheeks turned a shade darker.

The vampire queen smirked, and circled the princess' waist with her long arms. She lifted her up a few feet off the ground, and rotated slowly in the air, her hands gently resting above the girl's hips, and her quarry's hands trembling atop her shoulders.

She softly bit the tip of Bonnibel's ear. "You know you miss this," she whispered hoarsely.

The princess turned her head away, and the vampire queen stiffened. She let go, and the girl tumbled to the muddy ground, dirtying her night clothes. When she looked up, indignant, Marceline was gone.

Princess Bubblegum sniffed, holding back the tears in case Marceline was still lurking nearby. She slid a finger underneath her nightdress, pulled it out and looked down at her own chest. A black band t-shirt greeted her blurry gaze. She choked back a sob, and stood, sample tube in hand.

She did miss her.


	2. Chapter 2

Perfection disgusts me. It's like watching cheesy soap operas where everyone is unrealistically attractive and crying doesn't make one look like they just dipped their face in a bucket of pure snot. It can occasionally be entertaining, but more often than not it makes you want to smash puppies.

Or maybe that's just me. The only person I can get to watch soap operas I've found on tape beneath piles of garbage in the badlands is Finn, and he's unhealthily _good_, so it's not like I have any one to gauge my emotional reactions against.

Anyways, it would only make worlds of sense if I hated Bonnibel. And in a sense, I do. But in another sense, I kind of want to rip her clothes off, push her on the ground, pull her hair, and suck her-

Sorry, I know you don't want to hear about that part of things, given our history. I just can't help myself. Something about watching her fall apart when around me, something about watching the sheen of perfection she keeps about her melt away with every bubblegum flavored drop of sweat rolling between her lovely breasts, with every stifled gasp escaping her lips, that drives me crazy in the best way possible.

I think it's seeing that she's not as perfect as she lets on that gets me good. I mean, it's almost _human_ how much she tries to disguise her insecurities and fallacies. It's almost_ human_, how much she tries to prove to everyone that human is exactly what she is not. And that's what gets me. The only other human I know is Finn. The only other person I know that isn't either entirely good or entirely bad or doesn't entirely make sense all the time because he's just so very fucking human is Finn, and he's fourteen. I'm thousands of years old. As much as I love him, that just won't fly. I don't want to do the things to Finn that I want to do to Bonnie, that I have done to Bonnie, on numerous occasions.

I think we (I mean you and I) didn't work out because you tried so hard to be what I needed. You would start fights on purpose, but there was no passion behind them. You loved me so much that you couldn't stand to be imperfect for me. And imperfect is what I aim for.

I saw Bonnie in my old stomping grounds the other night. I don't think she was there on purpose. But it still sent weird shivers down my spine, watching her trip over her nightgown, dirty up to her elbows, mud on her knees. I couldn't help but confront her, bring up the old days, even if she didn't want to think about them.

I know that I'm the one who ended it, but most of the time it seems like it was her idea. Maybe it's because I've always blamed it on her.

I don't know. I'm sorry I'm throwing this all on you. You don't deserve to have to listen to me rambling about women that aren't you. You tried your best for me, and it wasn't enough, and I will never forgive myself for that.

You are a much better person than I.

Keeping on keeping on, and by glob, find yourself a girl who will treat you far better than I did.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: I know I said this would be a series of one shots, but it's turning more into a story with a plot and everything. SO I guess I'll go with that. Sorry for the earlier misrepresentation! **

**PS: If you have a Tumblr, feel free to follow either of my blogs (both urls are available on my profile) for adventure time fanart and some of my unrelated work and such!**

**Thanks for reading!**

I was in the graveyard again. This time, though, it was in the middle of the day. I wasn't digging for samples, either. I was at a funeral. I stood at the edge of a deep hole, surrounded by people I didn't recognize, all of them dressed in black. There was something off about them all, too. They all had a strange skin tone, and a strange scent clinging to them. They were a strange light pink, orange, white color, and they smelled like…

Finn! They all smelled like Finn. Strong and musty and sweaty and salty all at once. I drew closer to one carefully, expecting him to withdraw from me, but he didn't react. He was an older gentleman, with salt and pepper hair and thin lips, shriveled skin and sunken grey eyes. I waved a hand in front of his face. Nothing. He couldn't see me. I was willing to bet my butt no one could.

No longer feeling self-conscious about my researching, I closely inspected all of them, coming to the conclusion that all of them were human. Every single one of them, from the old man, to the couple holding each other and weeping, to the official looking man standing above the hole, holding a small black book and reciting things in a monotonous buzz that wouldn't condense into words, to the pre-pubescent boy standing by himself and wringing his hands.

Excitement coursed through me. I had to tell Finn! I had to take samples! I had to acquire study subjects! So much could be done…

Except…

Except NOT all of them were human. Not anymore. A man that I hadn't noticed my first go around the graveyard now stood beside the boy. No…I hadn't noticed him…because he hadn't been there before! I was certain. I hadn't seen him approaching in the distance either. It was as if he had suddenly appeared there out of nowhere.

He had blue tinged skin, and a smell about him that reminded me of rotten meat that had fallen off of Meat Man and turned sour. His hair was short and black and stiff. He looked up at me, his arm still hooked around the boy, who was now sobbing, and smiled. His teeth were pointed, and I could see wiggling things caught between them.

Hunson Aberdeen. Marceline's dad. He could see me.

I frowned, but before I could even think about taking action, a gasping sound overtook the droning of the man reading the black book. I looked down into the hole for first time, and my blood ran cold.

A little girl, no older than four or five years old, laid flat on her back at the bottom of it. Her arms were folded neatly across her thin chest, and tucked by her elbow was a very familiar stuffed animal.

Hambo.

Except he didn't have all the patches and holes and worn spots that made him who he was. He looked brand spanking new.

And the little girl's eyes were wide open. Her body didn't move. Her mouth was open. Two infinitesimally small pointed teeth rested lightly on her thick lower lip. Her hair was dark brown. Her skin was pale. Not blue, but pale. She was dead.

She was Marceline Aberdeen.

She gasped again. And as I watched, her hair slowly darkened until it was blacker than night. Her pointed teeth grew a little longer. Her skin darkened blue. And she jumped up, as if waking up from a bad dream, and opened her mouth wider and screamed, "Bubblegum!"

"Bubblegum! Wake up, princess!"

I opened my eyes. Peppermint Butler sat on my covered knees, his long arms crossed over his center, his face cross.

"You slept in Princess," he said.

I rubbed my hand over my eyes, and used the front of the black shirt Marcy had given me so long ago to wipe the drool off my chin. "Sorry, P. Butt. Weird dreams." I yawned.

His eyes narrowed. "I hear cemeteries can do that to you."

I had been about to climb out of bed, but I froze. "Oh?"

"Yes," he sounded unhappy, as if he were touching something slimy and unappealing. "Stay away from her, princes." His voice softened. "She'll only hurt you again."  
I giggled. But somewhere inside my stomach it felt like I had swallowed a shard of ice.

"Marcy's harmless," I said simply.

And I tried to make myself believe it.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: This chapter takes place right after the episode **_**What Was Missing. **_**The entire fic will span the entire show so far, right now I believe it is in the third season. You're welcome to correct me if I'm wrong or if my timeline seems screwed up at all. **

**Anyhow, thanks for reading. Hope you enjoy. I love feedback, so don't be shy. **

**Also, I was listening to **_**Sing**_**, by the Dresden Dolls, on a loop as I wrote this. **

Marceline the Vampire Queen sat at the edge of the window, legs swinging wildly over the sill. Tears streamed down her face. She clutched her straw hat in her hands, so tightly that it began to splinter between her fingers

She kept the shirt.

She kept the _shirt. _

She kept the _fucking _shirt.

That sentence repeated in her mind, over and over again, lapping against her thoughts and weathering them like water against a rock.

She laughed to herself. Bonnibel kept the shirt. Did Marceline keep anything? No. No, of course not. She was too pigheaded for that, too self-centered, too thoughtless. She took all of the drawings, all the clothes, the books, the paintings, everything Bonnie had every given her, and had tossed it into the Fire Kingdom.

And what had she given Bonnie? One lousy T-shirt from the one and only concert they ever went to together? A piece of shit cigar box guitar she made for her? What, a _rock_ she had found when exploring caves in the badlands? And had the princess kept them _all? _Probably. She probably had. She still loved Marcy. At the very least, she missed her.

Did Marceline miss her? Yes, she did. Did she love her? Well…

The vampire roughly wiped one of her hands across her closed eyes. Ash hadn't worked out. Neither had the one before him, the lovely girl she kept writing letters to in the hope that expressing her emotions to someone would make it less likely that she dumped them all on the poor princess.

Marceline had been the only one of the group earlier that day not to have something missing, and they had jokingly made fun of her for it. The thing was, that she had been missing something. Her something was just not so obvious as all that.

She had been snarky and cold and mean towards the princess, remembering their last fight, years previous, clinging to it the way a child clings to a scrape to get ice cream and candy and kisses to the forehead. She had wanted to be comforted, to be proven _right_¸ to be told her opinions were righteous and valid. Instead, she felt like a jackass as soon as she saw that dang shirt.

She was tempted to fly to the Castle, to burst through the window and gather the girl, fluffy and puffy from sleep, into her arms and twirl with her over the kingdom and kiss her and hold her close and whisper that she was right, she was right, she was _right_.

Marceline didn't have to be perfect. But she had to be considerate. Glob, did she have to be considerate.

But the vampire queen knew that the princess was busy, _had_ been busy for weeks, rarely leaving the castle for anything short of an apocalypse. She was on a research binge. _What_ exactly Bonnibel was researching was beyond Marceline. Most of the princess's line of interest was beyond Marceline and her expertise, which mostly focused on music and pissing people off. She had, however, gathered from Turtle Princess through alternating cajoling and threatening, that she had been checking out books on immortality, evil, and the Nightosphere, a direction that made Marceline extremely uncomfortable.

Marceline knew that if she attempted to burst in on Bubblegum during her research, she would be rewarded with a bop in the face. If she even attempted to put her two cents in and aid her she would be rewarded with a bop in the face. Not that she wanted to. Not that she didn't.

Okay, she did.

She sighed, and placed her hat lightly atop her head. Her fingers grazed up the bridge of her nose, as if pushing up on invisible glasses, a nervous tic Bonnie had once pointed out to her.

_That's weird._

_ What's weird?_

_ You should wear glasses. _

_ You should!_

_ What?_

_ I don't know. _

And they had both dissolved into a fit of giggles, Bubblegum falling on top of her, her body soft and warm and sweet. They had been in the badlands that night, even though Bonnie had protested the location at first. But she knew Marcy would protect her. So she caved in the end. And after their giggles had faded into hiccups she explained to Marcy her tic, and Marcy had guffawed good-naturedly and bopped her gently on the forehead. And had followed the bop with her lips, a gentle kiss. And then another, lower. And another…

Marceline propelled herself from the sill, coming to rest floating above the marshes surrounding her home. She swung her bass guitar from her back, and placed her fingers gingerly on the strings, on the frets, not playing, not really, but ghosting her skin over the surface of the instrument.

What was missing?

What was missing?

**AN 2: Kay, sorry, last thing, just wanted to apologize for the filler chapters. The action starts soooooonnnnn, I promise, lovelies. **


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: So, with this chapter the rating of the story will change to M. It's pretty lemony. And creepy. And…**

**I dunno. **

**Feedback is welcome. **

Don't read this letter. Really, you shouldn't.

I had the weirdest dream last night.

I was sitting in a hole. It was deep. Standing flat on the ground at the bottom of it, I couldn't touch the edges. I didn't think to simply fly out, for some reason. I sat down in the dirt, and wrung my hands.

It was dark, and cold, and damp. The cold doesn't usually bother me, since I'm, you know, dead. But I was shivering, and my teeth chattered loudly, the only noise besides wind softly whistling, perhaps through treetops somewhere above ground, where I could not see them.

The walls wriggled with worms, with maggots. I shook.

I looked up. It was night outside. I couldn't see any stars, though. No moon, either. The sky was just black.

I looked down again, and the soft illumination that had once allowed me to see my surroundings had faded. I couldn't see a thing. I couldn't see my hands in front of my face.

I turned my head up, or in the direction I thought was up. All was dark. I couldn't tell what way was what, and fear began to take hold of me.

Fear. I hadn't been afraid in a very long time.

I scrambled backwards until my back hit the wall of the hole, and I felt something slithering along my shoulders, and I yelped and jumped forward. My neck twisted as I turned my head in every direction, trying to catch sight of something, anything, anywhere.

And then, suddenly, miraculously, I saw pink.

I saw her.

She smiled at me. She leaned down into the hole, and smiled. She was beautiful.

Then she was next to me. I didn't see her climb in, or fall in. She was just there.

She kissed me. She laughed. She sang and hummed to me and clutched my head to her chest.

She hooked her thumb in the waistband of my jeans, and tugged gently, smirking against my mouth as I gasped. Her fingers were cold as they crawled lower, and lower, slowly, so slowly.

Her tongue demanded entrance to my mouth right as her index finger demanded entrance somewhere lower.

She was so fast and hard, so different from how she usually is. She pushed deep. She brought me to the edge. And as I lost control of all my faculties, as my thoughts became soup and my words and sounds streamed together into gibberish, she stopped.

She stopped moving altogether. She seemed to have stopped breathing.

I could feel everything in that moment. I was acutely aware of the feel of her inside of me, of the shape of her fingers, of roots digging into my tailbone, of the dirt against the backs of my thighs, of the sound of my heavy breathing and high pitched whines of need.

Then she leaned forward. And she sniffed me. And she recoiled, a look of horror upon her delicate features. She pulled out of me, and I released a cry of disappointment. She flew upwards, out of the hole, screaming.

And I looked down at myself. I could see again. I could see that I was not blue, but white. Pale, pale white. Deathly white. I was dirty. I was covered in blood and tiny little wounds. Maggots and worms crawled in and out of me, over me. I could still hear her screaming. My throat itched. My chin tickled. And I realized that they were coming from my mouth, and my nose, and now they were streaming, and now they were _pouring_, and I couldn't breathe, I couldn't _breathe,_ and-

And I woke up.

I woke up. I cried.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

Don't read this letter. Don't reply.


End file.
